


Never go anywhere, never see anyone

by anamia



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Abusive Parents, Gen, Religion, fixit, i just want these women to be happy, like seriously, niche content, so very niche, specifically christianity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 04:26:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10846449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamia/pseuds/anamia
Summary: Maria wrote of her father's lessons and her brother's marriage and her own philosophies, writing in careful French all that she could not say aloud. Mlle Gillenormand, in turn, wrote of her own father's temper and eccentricities, of her sister's growing up and her own ambitions to marry someone rich and stupid, that she might live comfortably and without being made to feel stupid by her husband as well by her family.Maria accompanies her father on a trip to Paris. There she meets and befriends Mlle Gillenormand, a friendship which proves beneficial to them both.





	Never go anywhere, never see anyone

“And so, Madame, you shall be attentive and obedient as though receiving directions from me personally, or I shall be forced to discipline you in a manner which will displease both of us, do you understand me?”

Maria bowed her head, not daring to look her father in the eye. “Yes Father,” she said. They sat in an opulently decorated boudoir, its walls covered in tapestries that Maria could barely bring herself to notice. The furniture upon which she perched was more showy than comfortable, designed to impress and intimidate just like everything else in this house. Maria and her father were in Paris for the fortnight while he conducted business, taking advantage of the new and, most likely, tenuous peace in the French capital. Unwilling to leave her education in the care of tutors, no matter how briefly, Prince Bolkonski had insisted that Maria accompany him, and now looked at her sternly.

Apparently satisfied with her sincerity, Prince Bolkonski sat back. “Good. Now, how do you propose to occupy yourself while I am occupied with business?”  
This was a trick question; Maria's days in Paris were as strictly mapped out as her days in Bald Hills. She flushed slightly under the scrutiny and said, “I will thank God for our safe arrival and then retreat to our rooms to study algebra.”

He nodded sharply, satisfied by her response. Without a word he rose and offered her his cheek to kiss, then strode out of the room. Maria took a moment to collect herself, breathing deeply in a vain attempt to settle her still racing pulse, then stood and left the room in turn. A carriage driver waited for her in the entrance hall, having already been engaged to take her to a church recommended by their hosts. She offered the driver a small smile, which he did not acknowledge, and followed him out into the courtyard.

It took only a few minutes to reach the church. It was a small building, nearly a chapel rather than a church proper, which suited Maria perfectly. She stepped out onto the curb. “I will only be a short while,” she told the driver, painfully aware that her French marked her as decidedly foreign. Silently, the driver inclined his head. After a moment of waiting awkwardly for him to speak, Maria turned and stepped into the church, splotches of color visible on her cheeks.

At this time of day the church was nearly empty. Only another girl, slightly older than Maria, knelt before the altar, eyes turned towards the sky in rapt contemplation. Not wishing to disturb her, Maria took her place several feet away, lowering herself to her knees and beginning her devotions.

* * *

“We are receiving guests this evening,” Prince Bolkonski informed Maria in his usual brusk manner, having entered her room without announcing himself, as was his custom. Maria started, looking up in alarm from her book as she slowly processed her father's words. “A Monsieur Gillenormand and his family. They are associates of our host, and venerable members of the old order.” In his tone, the prince conveyed the entirety of his feelings towards the dissolution of the old order, a combination of regret for its falling and disdain for the people who had let it happen. “You will be ready for them at precisely six this evening.”

“Yes Father,” Maria promised, her heart sinking. She did not wish to subject herself to the scrutiny of strangers, no matter how distinguished. They would, no doubt, be more attractive and more cultured than she, having been raised in Paris rather than the Russian countryside. She imagined glittering women hiding laughter at her plain face and poor accent, imagined dashing young men glancing her over and then dismissing her immediately, imagined the patriarch trading looks with her father, expressing his sympathies that her father had been saddled with such an unsatisfactory eldest child. But she could not disobey her father's orders, nor did it even cross her mind to do so, and so at precisely six o'clock that evening she presented herself in the sitting room, washed and in the best of the dresses she had brought with her. Her father's eyes passed over her once, twice, inspecting her critically. He nodded once and turned away, dismissing her to find a seat and await their guests.

Maria took her place on one of the ornate, uncomfortable chairs, a little ways away from their hostess. Madame Catherine Lauriens, born Countess Catherine Bolkonskaya, a distant cousin of the prince, smiled at her, and Maria smiled timidly back. Catherine had been kind to her during their stay, albeit in an impersonal manner, as though Maria were an anonymous passer by rather than a family member and guest. Still, Maria appreciated the kindness and, by extension, could not help but like Catherine.

Catherine's husband sat with the prince, the two of them speaking quietly about matters of business and politics. Monsieur Lauriens had done a delicate dance during the Revolution, managing to escape the worst of the hysteria with his life and dignity mostly intact, and now he had begun the process of cautiously resurfacing, testing the waters of the tenuous new regime with every step. Prince Bolkonski held him in no little disdain, declaring that a man who sacrificed his convictions for the sake of his neck was not a man who deserved to have convictions in the first place. Still, he was married to the prince's cousin and had proved a considerate host, which was enough to earn at least minimal politeness from Prince Bolkonski and true affection from Maria.

At ten minutes past the hour Lauriens' butler entered the room and announced, “Monsieur Luc-Esprit Gillenormand and his family.”

In a muted flurry of skirts and creaking of wood the four rose to greet the newcomers. Luc-Esprit Gillenormand was older than either Lauriens or the prince, although not significantly so, and strode into the room as though he fully expected to dominate it through sheer presence alone. He crossed immediately to where Lauriens and Prince Bolkonski stood, although his eyes drifted over to Catherine and Maria, eyeing them with only barely hidden lasciviousness. Maria blushed and wishes she could fade into the tapestries.

Behind him trailed his wife and two girls who were, presumably, his daughters. Mme Gillenormand was younger than her husband and handsome, casting a look of weary haughtiness across the room and gliding over to greet Catherine. Maria she acknowledged with a nod and then dismissed nearly immediately, clearly not finding her worthy of attention. The two daughters were dressed nearly identically, though they were nearly a decade apart in age, with only the length of their skirts to differentiate their costumes. The younger, no older than eleven or twelve, was a markedly attractive child, with glowing cheeks and glossy brown hair, the kind of girl who melted hearts and charmed rooms without effort. She darted from father to mother and back and then, having been petted absently on the head by them both, sat herself nicely in one of the salon chairs and began to swing her feet a little, looking like nothing so much as a rococco painting.

When Maria turned her attention to the elder daughter she started a little in surprise; this was the girl she had seen the day before in church. Now that her face was not transformed by the presence of God, Maria could see that she was plain, as plain as Maria herself. She stood stiffly, looking out of place and uncomfortable. When her eyes fell on Maria she too seemed surprised, and after a moment of obvious hesitation, she crossed the sitting room to go to her.

“Did I see you at Saint Agnes' yesterday?” Mlle Gillenormand asked, not quite looking at Maria, as though she were not entirely used to speaking to others.

“Yes,” Maria said. And then, for wont of something to say, added, “Do you go often?”

“Oh yes,” Mlle Gillenormand said, and as she spoke a hint of her previous devotion-induced radiance crept into her face. “Nearly every day. It soothes my soul to be in the presence of God.” And she smiled, a genuine expression that softened her features and brought life into her eyes. Maria smiled back, almost surprised to find that she meant it.

“Will you sit?” she asked. “Tell me, that is, do you know how long the church has stood there? It felt to me as though it had been infused with the Holy Spirit for a long time indeed.”

* * *

“I noticed you and Gillenormand's daughter talking,” Prince Bolkonski said, when the Gillenormands had taken their leave and Maria and her father had retired to their apartments. “I hope you were not filling her mind with foolishness, Madame.”

“No Father,” Maria said, still flush with pleasure from having found a kindred spirit. “We were speaking of God and His presence in this city over the centuries.”

The prince sniffed, expressing both his disdain for his daughter's religious preoccupations and his commitment to letting people believe what they would. He left her, retreating to his own room to write letters and go over his accounts. Maria waited until the door was firmly closed and sank to her knees, eyes turned towards the sky. She crossed herself and, quietly just in case her father was listening at the door, she murmured, “Thank you.”

* * *

Maria and Mlle Gillenormand met each morning at Saint Agnes' for the rest of Maria's stay in Paris. They rarely spoke, respecting the sacred space in which they found themselves, but they knelt next to each other and smiled at each other and it was enough.

The day before Maria and her father were to depart, Maria caught Mlle Gillenormand on her way out of the church. Blushing fiercely, she held out a piece of paper upon which she had written the address of her father's home. “If you would like to write me,” she said. “I know it is not easy to send letters across such a distance, but I enjoyed our conversation and, if you are agreeable, would like to try to keep in touch.”

Mlle Gillenormand did not immediately take the paper, and for a moment Maria thought she would refuse it entirely. She had a hasty apology ready why Mlle Gillenormand took the page and said, “I would enjoy that as well. I'm afraid I don't have a pen with which to give you my own address, but Mme Lauriens knows it, if you wanted to ask her?” She trailed off, looking as uncertain as Maria felt.

“I will,” Maria assured her, and they both smiled almost in tandem.

* * *

They did write, once Maria had returned home. The letters did not come often, but they came. Maria wrote of her father's lessons and her brother's marriage and her own philosophies, writing in careful French all that she could not say aloud. Mlle Gillenormand, in turn, wrote of her own father's temper and eccentricities, of her sister's growing up and her own ambitions to marry someone rich and stupid, that she might live comfortably and without being made to feel stupid by her husband as well by her family. Maria did what she could to soothe her friend's bitterness, reminding her that a kind heart was more important than a sharp mind, and that God did not administer examinations of the intellect before allowing people into His Kingdom. Between regular correspondence with her friend Julie and the occasional letters from Mlle Gillenormand, Maria felt almost like she could bear the solitude and humiliation of her life without complaint.

The years passed. Mlle Gillenormand did not marry, and Maria could feel her disappointment through the page, though she tried to remain philosophic about her fate. When her sister ran off with a Bonapartist, Mlle Gillenormand sent Maria a full five pages of scathing fury tinged with jealousy and despair. Maria, not knowing what to do, gave her what comfort she could and wished more than anything that she could go to her in person and comfort her with more than just words on a page, delivered months after being written.

Maria's own life continued. Her brother went to war and his wife passed into the care of God. Her father became older and more erratic, prone to fits of temper he could not control. She became paler and meeker, cared for the baby to the best of her ability and tried not to fall into resentment or despair. Her letters to Mlle Gillenormand became commiserations about their lots in life, particularly once her daughter's son passed into her father's care. Maria felt a kinship with her, stronger even than with her childhood friends, happily married all of them, and mostly still in love. It came as almost a relief when the sudden threat of invasion sent the entire estate into a state of panic, for all that it cut off the last trickle of communication between Maria and Mlle Gillenormand. In the months leading up to and directly following her father's death, Maria barely had a moment to spare a thought for her friend, and when she did, it was only to fervently pray that Mlle Gillenormand's life was more peaceful than Maria's own.

* * *

Slowly, very slowly, the lines of communication opened back up. Maria sent a letter, apologizing for her long silence and explaining the whirlwind of change that had been the past few years. Several months passed, during which she became convinced that Mlle Gillenormand was dead or angry with her or had lost interest in maintaining their friendship. Finally, she received a terse reply, barely a page long, telling her not to apologize for circumstances outside of her control and that Mlle Gillenormand's life remained unchanged. Maria's heart ached upon receiving the missive, ached in relief that her friend had not deserted her and in sympathy for Mlle Gillenormand's unhappiness. She felt almost guilty for her own improving fortunes, felt almost guilty for having delivered her father safely to God's care and having found earthly happiness.

Finally, impulsively, urged on by Natasha, who knew of her heartache and conflicting emotions, Maria wrote her friend and begged her to come visit. Between her inheritance and funds loaned her by Pierre Bezukhov, equally sympathetic, they could afford to pay for Mlle Gillenormand's passage. It would do her good to get out of the city, out of her father's home, and Maria had not seen her in many years. It would not solve all their problems, but it was the only thing Maria could think to do.

Mlle Gillenormand refused their invitation, stating logistical difficulties in leaving her father's home, but issued a counter-invitation, saying that she too missed Maria and that she would be glad to see her again. Natasha, older, wiser, but still full of enthusiasm and affection, urged her to go, and Pierre gallantly offered himself as a traveling companion, having been educated abroad, including a stint in Paris before the revolution. After considerable hesitation, Maria accepted the invitation.

* * *

Paris looked very much the same as it had the last time Maria had seen it, nearly fifteen years previously. Somehow, Maria had expected otherwise, had expected the war that had ravaged her country to have touched the place of its origin as badly. She felt almost offended to see that it had not.

Mlle Gillenormand received them with obvious pleasure, though her father was not so gracious. Pierre felt the cold reception sharply, unable to see it as anything but a personal slight against him and everything he was and stood for. He had developed some serenity of mind over the years, was no longer the uncomfortable, awkward man he had been in his youth, but he did not have Maria and Mlle Gillenormand's long experience dealing with men like their fathers and had not learned the weary resignation of knowing that he would never live up to ever-shifting standards. Maria patted him on his shoulder and sent him to find a library while she sat in the Gillenormand's sitting room, her friend across from her and the old man hovering angrily in the background. They exchanged polite, stilted conversation, made awkward by his proximity and the long years that had passed since they last spoke face to face. Mlle Gillenormand had grown thinner in those years, sharper, more completely covered by her clothing and her faith. The disappointments of life were written into the lines of her face, just as the hardships she had endured in her father's house stood out in her stiff posture and quick, furtive glances in his direction to gauge his temper and tolerance for her visitor.

Maria did not stay long; she knew this dance. Before she left, she said quietly, “I will be at Saint Agnes' in the morning, if you would like to join me.”

“I do not pray in a public church anymore,” Mlle Gillenormand informed her, and Maria nodded.

“All the same,” she said. “I will be there.”

* * *

The next morning she turned as Mlle Gillenormand slipped into Saint Agnes' and smiled.

* * *

They spent nearly a month meeting for tea and praying side by side before Mlle Gillenormand presented herself late one afternoon, alone, at the grand hotel where Maria and Pierre were staying. Pierre, quickly realizing that he was not wanted, excused himself, first to his room and then, a moment later, to a just remembered pressing appointment Maria suspect he had invented on the spot, leaving the two women alone.

For a time Mlle Gillenormand did not speak, clearly having exhausted her courage and resolve just making the trip. Maria did not press her, letting her sit and drink tea. Finally, eyes fixed on the teacup rather than on Maria, Mlle Gillenormand said, “My father says I am not to see you any longer. He says you put notions into my mind. I came to say goodbye.”

A few years earlier, Maria would have reacted to this news with grief but acceptance, a quiet understanding that a father's word was law and that Gillenormand knew what was best for his daughter, as her own father did for her. A few years earlier, she would have bowed her head and wished her friend well and promised to meet her again in Heaven. But Maria had lived through a war, and she had seen her father die and, somehow, survived without him. She had, despite the best of intentions, let the routines and mindsets that he had worked to instill in her slip away, and the world had not come to an end. So she did not meekly acquiesce to a request that would bring pain to them both. Instead she took a breath and said, “Come away with us then.”

Mlle Gillenormand's head shot up and she stared at Maria with wide, almost panicked eyes. “What?” she breathed.

“Come away with us,” Maria repeated. “Leave with Pierre and myself. There is more than enough room for you in my home, and it would be a pleasure to see you daily rather than only getting to exchange words a few times a year.”

Mlle Gillenormand was shaking her head, clearly barely having heard a word. “I can't,” she said. “My father... who would look after him? I can't just leave him and, anyway, he would never allow it. He was so angry when my sister left; it would be worse if I were to do so.”

Maria nodded. “I know,” she said, and she did. “But you deserve happiness on this earth as much as she did.” She smiled gently. “Think about it, at least? We will be here for another fortnight, and can stay longer if we need to.”

Mlle Gillenormand did not respond, but neither did she get up to leave. Maria recognized it as a victory and changed the subject.

* * *

Mlle Gillenormand did not join Maria in church the next morning, nor the one after that. Maria, consulting with Pierre, decided to stay the rest of their planned time in Paris and decide from there whether to extend their stay or not. Pierre had been given the names of people to look up in Paris and, having gotten in touch with at least a few of them, would happily have stayed in the city for the next two years, much less the next two weeks. He spent his time in libraries and cafes, discussing philosophy and mysticism until all hours of the night, clearly enjoying himself immensely. Maria herself occupied herself with prayer and contemplation, as well as regular excursions with the wife of one of Pierre's new friends, a quiet and cultured woman who took Maria to see all the sighs that her previous visit had not allowed time to visit.

Two days before their scheduled departure, when Maria had very nearly given up hope, she looked up from her morning devotions in Saint Agnes' to find Mlle Gillenormand slipping furtively into the church, taking pains not to be noticed, though the church was empty save for Maria. Their eyes met, and Mlle Gillenormand silently slipped in beside Maria, immediately turning her eyes heavenward. Maria returned to her own prayers, and for nearly an hour the two women knelt side by side, each entirely engaged in her own private communion with God.

When at last Maria made to leave, Mlle Gillenormand signaled for her to wait. Eyes darting back and forth, as though expecting her father to leap out at any moment, she whispered, “I dare not leave the boy alone with him. He resents his parentage so, though I know he loves him dearly.”

Her words, perhaps offered as an explanation for remaining in Paris, tumbled over one another, barely understandable in her haste to finish speaking. Still, Maria understood, and she nodded. “Would you take him with you, if you could?” she asked.

“My father would never permit it,” Mlle Gillenormand said.

“But if you could,” Maria repeated.

Mlle Gillenormand hesitated, then nodded once, more of a jerk of the head than a true nod. “For my sister's sake, if nothing else,” she said.

Maria reached out and took one of her hands. Mlle Gillenormand tensed but did not pull it away. “Come with us, both of you,” she said. “Your sister would want her child raised with tenderness and for you to be happy.”

It was a testament to her shock and to the gravity of the moment that Mlle Gillenormand did not respond scathingly to this mention of her deceased sister but instead nodded, eyes very wide and face very pale.  
“I... I will think on it further,” she said.

Maria squeezed her hand and let go; it fell limply back to Mlle Gillenormand's side. “I will be here if you choose to come, and I will hold you in my heart with nothing but love and affection if you do not,” she promised. Mlle Gillenormand nodded again, then turned and all but fled from the church, all attempts at not being spotted abandoned for the moment.

* * *

Two days later Mlle Gillenormand showed up at Maria's hotel as Maria and Pierre were packing the last of their things for departure. Her face was very white and she trembled, but her expression was determined and she held a small, handsome boy by the hand. “Marius,” she said to him, eyes fixed on Maria. “You remember Princess Bolkonskaya, don't you?”

Mutely the boy nodded. Maria smiled down at him, her expression so tender and genuinely pleased that he could not help but smile back, just a little. She closed the distance between them and, gently, pulled Mlle Gillenormand into an embrace while, in the background, Pierre slipped away to buy two more tickets for the journey home.

**Author's Note:**

> A couple notes:
> 
> -Actually, upon further calculation, Mlle Gillenormand the younger would be older than I’ve written her here, but neither Hugo nor Tolstoy can calculate ages right so screw it. I like the imagery too much to change it.
> 
> -I suspect Maria and Mlle Gillenormand wouldn’t actually go to the same church, but allow me some narrative liberty here. The church in question is entirely imaginary.
> 
> -I haven’t met endgame Maria yet, so her personality is based on a combination of spoilers, speculation, and wishful thinking.


End file.
